


Tumblr prompt fills

by Dracothelizard



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: Alternate Universe, Mad Scientists, Multi, Penguins, Tumblr Prompt, Werewolves, Zombies, fairy tale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27510490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dracothelizard/pseuds/Dracothelizard
Summary: These are fills for a bunch of Tumblr prompts I wrote back in 2011.
Relationships: Charles II of England/Sotherby, George I/Robert Walpole, James Smith/Dick Turpin, Ludwig van Beethoven/Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart
Kudos: 13





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1 - George I/Robert Walpole, book shop  
> 2 - George I/Robert Walpole, teachers  
> 3 - Julius Caesar and Vercingetorix, zombies  
> 4 - Charles II/Sotherby, werewolves  
> 5 - Ludwig Von Beethoven/Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, rock musicians  
> 6 - Dick Turpin/James Smith, Frankenstein/mad scientist  
> 7 - Nigel and Geoff, squirrels  
> 8 - Viking band, in space  
> 9 - Viking band, werewolves  
> 10 - Charles II/Sotherby, driving instruction and pupil  
> 11 - Blenkinsop and Maltravers, fairy tale  
> 12 - Dick Turpin and James Smith, penguins  
> 13 - Charles II/Sotherby, working in a laboratory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George I/Robert Walpole, book shop

It’s one of those nice, cosy secondhand bookshops that Robert walks into, trying to find something for his sister. It’s also one of those Oxfam bookshops, so even if she doesn’t like his choice, he can argue that it’s for charity and that she should be happy about that.

There’s a few other people browsing around, and one of the volunteers is tidying up some books. A friendly-looking man is sitting behind the counter, sipping from his tea while reading a book. “Ask me for help if you need it, ja?” he asks, his German accent oddly adorable rather than threatening.

Robert nods, then decides to ask for help now. It’s his lunchbreak after all. “D'you have any chicklit?”

“Chickwat?” the volunteer behind the counter asks, brow furrowing. He puts his mug down.

“Bridget Jones’ Diary, that sort of thing,” Robert explains, as the man slowly nods.

“Over here,” he says, walking over to the bookcases, and taps the other volunteer on the shoulder to make him move aside. “Apparently women like these books.” He gestures at two shelves, filled with copies of brightly coloured books with glittering titles, and Robert nods. It looks a lot like his sister’s bookcase at home, at least the two shelves not filled with the books she needs for work. “Have you read them?”

“Not, er, really,” Robert says, tilting his head to read some titles. “The whole romance thing… ’s not for me.”

The man pats him on the shoulder. “Perhaps one day, ja?” And walks off.

Robert nods, engrossed by the books for a moment, then realises what the man actually said. He turns to watch the volunteer sit back behind the counter, already sipping from his tea.

Perhaps one day indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> George I/Robert Walpole, teachers

He taught German. Of course he taught German, Robert told himself. The man _was_ a German. Something Robert’d been slightly against at the last teacher meeting before the summer holidays. “Is his English any good?” he’d asked the head of the languages department.

“His English is _fine,_ ” Sotherby had told him, narrowing his eyes at Robert. “It’s his German I’m more interested in, and it’s good for the pupils to learn a language by speaking it constantly, and George can certainly do that.”

They then had moved on to the next point on the agenda, George Windsor and his buddy Beau Brummel, and whether or not they could be kicked out of school yet.

As always, with children of rich parents, they couldn’t.

*

But yes, there was now a German teaching German, and Robert peered through the window next to the classroom door, sipping his coffee and enjoying the free hour between the Economics lessons he was giving. There was laughing, and Robert frowned at that. People laughing? During German? How was that even possible?

The pupils working on the computers in the hallway kept glancing at him, so Robert nodded at them and wandered off.

*

“You’re Robert, ja? Economics?” George asked him brightly, during the lunchbreak.

“Yes, I am,” Robert replied, pouring himself another coffee. “You want some?”

“Bitte.” George held out his mug, and Robert filled it. “Danke.”

“You really should work on your English,” Robert muttered as he put the coffee pot away.

George nodded. “I need help.”

“Tried Sotherby? He does English.” Robert gestured at Sotherby, who was sitting in a corner with Henry, one of the History teachers, and both were busy with essays and a red pen. Judging from the way they were both glaring at the papers, it didn’t bode well for the pupils.

George just smiled at him, after following his glance at the two teachers. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” He sipped from his coffee. “What about you? You can help.”

“I teach Economics,” Robert reminded him.

George shrugged. “You are English, and I’m not scared of numbers.” He patted Robert on the arm. “You will help me.”

“Uhm,” Robert said.

George just smiled at him. “We will discuss later.” He then went off to sit with Marie Anne, who taught French, and Richard, who taught History but actually spent most of his time pointing out historical inaccuracies in films, plays, and TV series.

“Well,” Charlie, one of Sotherby’s English teachers, said, sidling up to him to smirk meaningfully. “Well, well, well.”

“What?” Robert asked, eyeing him. “I’m not chaperoning the next school dance.”

Charlie snorted at that. “Not that,” he said. _“That_.” He nodded meaningfully at George, chatting to Richard and Marie Anne. “Well done, you sly dog.”

Robert blinked. “What? No, it’s not like that! I’m helping him with his English.”

“Oh, of course you are, private tutoring, eh?” Charlie winked at him. “Well done, Robert, about time someone showed our George a good time.”

“It’s not like that,” Robert hissed, but Charlie just winked at him again.

“I won’t tell a soul,” he whispered, but then went to sit with Sotherby, and Robert knew Sotherby was going to be told _immediately._

He was going to _kill_ Charles.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Julius Caesar and Vercingetorix, zombies

Enemies who have been slain are supposed to stay that way. Julius has always been very firm on that. None of that ‘oh, we stabbed him in the stomach and he stopped moving, so…’ for him. No, he will make sure that every last one of those annoying and smug Gauls are dead.

Last time one of their chieftains _feigned_ his death, only to return a few months later with more men who now knew a lot more about Roman strategies.

He’s not having that again.

So when Vercingetorix stands in front of him in a field, grinning with the blood dripping from his tunic and his sword, his face a pale contrast in comparison to the deep red of blood, Julius is very annoyed. For a moment, he thinks it’s a ghost who emerged from the low fog. It’s the right time for it too, with the sun slowly starting to sink away behind the horizon.

“Bonsoir, Julius.”

His other soldiers are cowering behind him, some of them muttering prayers to various gods. “I killed you myself,” he snaps back, already raising his sword.

“You did,” the Gaul acknowledges.

Julius hesitates. “Then how…”

Vercingetorix grins again, and this time Julius _looks_. The Gaul isn’t just pale compared to the blood, he is a sickly, grey pale. And his teeth are black and rotting, with bits of… 

He’s heard the stories from the men who have been among the Germanic tribes, and even from the few who have risked to venture further north, where the cold has made the local men hairier than bears, that the barbarians do not always remain dead. That they have found a way for the strongest, the bravest, to come back the night after a battle to have revenge on their conquerors.

And eat them.

He’s dismissed these stories as that, stories the men tell each other at the campfire, stories born out of leaving chieftains for dead when they’re anything but. He eyes Vercingetorix. It looks convincing, the pale skin, the rotten teeth… but these Gauls are crafty and Julius is no fool.

“You don’t frighten me.” He reaches out to stab Vercingetorix in the chest, straight into his heart, and the Gaul lets out a deep groan as Julius pulls his sword out again.

Instead of dropping down on his knees to die, Vercingetorix glances down at the chestwound, where dark blood, darker than usual, nearly black, slowly trickles out. “Silly Caesar.”

He can hear his men back away behind him, the prayers have grown louder. But he is Caesar, and he will _stand_ and kill this man again. There are enough men to follow his lead and they will chop this stubborn Gaul into pieces. Let Vercingetorix come back from _that._

The Gaul then raises his sword, and it glints in the fading sun. He grins at Julius, that rotten toothy grin, and Julius resists the urge step back. Show no fear.

“Men!” Julius shouts. “Get in formation!” He doesn’t look behind him to check if they do, but he hears scrambling, and he starts to smile. “We will kill you again, Vercingetorix.”

Vercingetorix is still standing there, arm in the air. “Will you kill my entire army again, silly Caesar?”

And then, from the low fog around him, more Gauls emerge, slowly but surely, and it doesn’t take Julius long to realise Vercingetorix isn’t the only one who came back for revenge. “Men!” he shouts, and he tries to assess the number of Gauls. Dozens they can handle, he thinks, but more and more figures stumble forth from the fog, and Julius decides to do the one thing he’s never done before. “RETREAT!”

His men run before he turns to run himself, and behind him, Vercingetorix and his men laugh before starting to chase.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charles II/Sotherby, werewolves

Sotherby doesn’t quite know how to react when Charles informs him he’s a werewolf. Especially as Charles does it in between telling him to push back the French ambassador by a few days and asking him to check on the champagne supplies.

“…What?”

“Champagne, Sothers.”

“Before the champagne.”

Charles’ smile turns embarrassed, like a kid caught stealing biscuits. “It’s a bit of a long story…”

*

The long story is that the Stuart family are werewolves, including James I and Charles I, which partly explains why Cromwell was so keen on having Charles executed.

“But it’s not like father was dangerous,” Charles explains, once he has Sotherby in a room that’s guaranteed not to have spies. Sotherby’s not entirely sure how Charles knows, but Charles just winked and muttered something about ‘his time of the month’. “Grandfather knew a man who supplied him with a potion to keep the werewolf subdued enough so it could be safely locked up without killing anyone.”

“Is that why you’re so interested in the palace dungeons?” Sotherby asks. He thought it had something to do with Charles’ interest in women, but apparently not.

Charles tries to look innocent, and fails.

*

The werewolf issue is more of a non-issue, even if Charles claims he can smell a liar and has the uncanny ability to hear whispers across the rooms at certain times of the month, and Sotherby’s been startled by his sneaking more than once.

“You’re just excellent prey,” Charles grins, when Sotherby asks him to find someone else to sneak up on.

*

The sneaking up does decrease, but only because Charles now only does it when Sotherby is alone.

“Gotcha!” Charles cries triumphantly, when Sotherby is looking for a particular book in the royal library.

He yelps when Charles grabs him and buries his face in Sotherby’s neck to inhale deeply. “Charles!”

Charles doesn’t move, just makes a happy noise as he keeps sniffing and then - then he licks Sotherby’s neck. “Sothers,” he says, a hint of a growl in his voice. “I smell women’s perfume on you. Daughter of De Vere, if I’m not mistaken.”

Sotherby winces. “She just wanted me to do her a favour.”

Charles glares at him. “And?”

“I rejected her, of course.” Sotherby’s surprised by this reaction from his King. He expected Charles to chide him for not having anything further to do with the woman.

“Good,” Charles says firmly, and licks Sotherby’s neck again. “Because you are _mine_ and it would get rather annoying if I had to kill her to make a point.”

Sotherby stares at him.

“I’m _joking_ , Sothers!” Charles tells him brightly, then gives him a fond kiss on the tip of his nose. “I’d only slightly maim anyone who presumes to touch you.”

Sotherby continues to stare as Charles strolls off again. This werewolf thing could get dangerous…


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mozart/Beethoven, rock musicians

“You know,” Ludwig pants, as Wolfgang thrusts into him with a grunt, “when Falco sang ‘Rock Me, Amadeus’…”

“Yes?” Wolfgang asks, pausing for a moment. He doesn’t understand why on _Earth_ Ludwig wants to talk during sex. Getting the ageing keyboardplayer hearing aids was a bad idea.

“He didn’t mean it literally,” Ludwig says, and looks awfully pleased for a moment for someone with their trousers and pants around their ankles, bracing himself on one of Wolfgang’s precious pianos - whoever said pianos had no place in rock music clearly hadn’t heard _him_ play - and Wolfgang thinks that is most annoying.

He thrusts in again, making Ludwig yelp. “You’re just jealous they only named a film about dogs after you, Ludwig.”

“You _like_ those films, Wolfie,” Ludwig reminds him, groaning again.

Wolfgang just starts to thrust harder, because he’s not going to admit to that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick Turpin/James Smith, Frankenstein/mad scientist

“You want to create a monster,” Dr. Smith asks, staring at his… friend. Friend is probably the best term for Dr. Turpin, who lives in a castle, more a ruin, nearby in the dark forest. There’re enough rumours about the man _already_. “Why?”

Dr. Turpin stirs his tea, and shrugs. “It’d be fun. And a challenge.” There’s that familiar gleam in his eyes again, the same when he said he was going to create a dog with two heads.

Dr. Smith is rather glad he never saw the results of that, because now he can pretend it never worked. Because despite his casual attitude, Dr. Turpin _is_ a rather clever chap. Possibly mad, but mostly clever. “I don’t think it’s a good idea.”

“It’s a brilliant idea. If I had my own monster, I could make it do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted,” Dr. Turpin counters.

“You’d be playing God,” Dr. Smith argues, the voice of reason as always. “Dick, I’m not going to stand by and watch you do that.”

Dr. Turpin puts his cup of tea on the table and leans forward. “Go on, James,” he practically purrs. “Stop me, then.”

He gulps, quickly finishes his tea, and then closes the distance between them to give Dr. Turpin an awkward peck on the lips.

“Oh, James,” Dr. Turpin replies, shaking his head. “You’ll have to do better than that…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nigel and Geoff, squirrels

“Help! Help! M'friend’s wounded!”

They hear the slightly slurred cry and immediately run over to help.

“What’s the problem?” Geoff asks, carefully helping the… man to sit down on the grass.

Nigel is already rifling through his bag. “Cures for drunkenness, cures for drunkenness…”

The heap of man starts to struggle. “Stroller’s not drunk!” he exclaims, and points at something on the grass next to him. “s my friend Timothy!”

Geoff carefully smiles at the man. “It’s better if you sit down.” Then he kneels down as well to look at the air in front of him. “Okay, Timothy, what’s the problem?” Then he leans closer to Nigel, and gestures at him.

Nigel leans down a bit and whispers. “Cures for madness?” he asks. “I didn’t bring a red hot poker with me, though.”

Geoff shrugs. “Use something else.” He turns around, to find the bedraggled man glaring at him.

“Tha’s not Timothy! Tha’s Timothy.” He points at a heap of mud on the ground, and carefully pets it. “’s all right, Timothy, the nice men’s gonna cure you!”

Geoff takes a closer look, and realises the heap of mud is a squirrel. A not very healthy looking squirrel, it’s got clotted blood in its fur, but its chest is still going up and down. “Nigel!” he calls out. “Get the soup to determine how deep this poor squirrel’s wound is!”

The man smiles at them. “Can Stroller have some soup?” he asks.

“Of course, of course,” Geoff says, peering closer at the squirrel, and wondering if licking the wound will tell him anything at all.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viking band - in space

It’s not different. Not really. Not on a very basic level.

They’re still on a ship, they’re still going new places, and they’re still stealing everything they can find when they get there.

It’s just that now, the ship is made of metal, the new places aren’t always hospitable for them unless they wear a lot of extra armour and a special helmet, and the things they steal are… well, most of the time they have no idea what they’re stealing.The things are valuable, though, and that’s what counts.

But there are some constants across the universe, as it turns out.

Every civilisation has invented alcohol. Some of the drinks are better than others, but they’re not picky.

Every civilsation understands them when they shout with a sharp axe held to the necks of the locals.

And every civilisation that emerged from brave colonising humans has women - and some men - who love a bit of rough, provided that the bit of rough is also well-groomed and relatively clean. And it’s not just the civilisations that emerged from humans, but after that one accident with the squidlike thing, Bjorn pulled rank as singer and banned ‘activities’ with all non-human lifeforms.

Ragnar sulked for a week, but even he agreed that being purple with pink spots wasn’t helping with their fearsome image.

And no, they can’t let out a raven whenever they’re lost, but their new ship has small machines that are able to spot interesting planets for them.

And so, as cities burn on various planets across the universe, they drink another toast with their stolen alcohol, and think that this must be their Valhalla.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Viking band, werewolves

Some people, usually the Saxons, will refer to Vikings as a pack of rabid wolves, tearing and killing and destroying everything in their path.

For four of them it’s more apt than the Saxons know, but only for one night every month.

Their own people call them berserkers, and avoid them when that one night approaches. And quite right too, because they can’t distinguish friend from foe. They learned that the hard way.

There’s a reason none of them have wives or children any more.

Saxons fear them, and their own people avoid them, both talking quietly of the beasts that dwell inside the four men, the beasts howling as the moon grows full, desperate to be let out.

What the others don’t understand, what they _can’t_ understand, is that the four beasts are a _pack_. And a pack looks after each other, cares for each other in a way that transcends family and friendship. During that one night, they’re not four; they’re _one._

And sometimes during other nights as well.

Just because they do not have wives doesn’t mean they have to go without certain pleasures, after all.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles II/Sotherby, driving instructor and pupil

“I didn’t tell you to stop,” Sotherby tells him as Charles - badly - parks the car in the grass on the side of the quiet country road. If Sotherby has learned one thing during his attempts to teach Charles, it’s that quiet country roads are the best place for his new pupil.

“I got bored,” Charles says cheerfully, and turns the car off.

Sotherby frowns. “I told you, put the car in neutral before turning it off completely.”

Charles rolls his eyes and undoes his seatbelt. “Oh, shush.” Then he waggles his eyebrows at Sotherby. “Isn’t it time you tell me about the _maneuvers_ I have to learn?”

Sotherby grabs his folder from the glove compartment, and starts searching through it. It’s never a bad idea to start explaining them, he supposes, especially not with someone like Charles, who still doesn’t seem to realise that you don’t have right of way just because you have the better car. “Right, which one do you want to discuss? Emergency stop? Turning in the road?”

Charles lets out a sigh, then grabs the folder from Sotherby’s hands and throws it in the back of the car. “I was thinking,” he says, and starts to smirk, “of something a _little_ different.”

Sotherby glances at his folder, starting to get annoyed. “Like what, Charles?”

Charles grins at him, and then actually gets out of his seat to straddle Sotherby. Sotherby can only stare as Charles moves around in his lap to get comfortable, because they didn’t tell him how to deal with this when he learning to be a driving instructor. “Uhm,” he says, holding his hands up so he’s not touching Charles. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Charles purrs, beaming down at him before swooping in for a kiss.

It’s a _very_ good kiss, and Sotherby whimpers a little as Charles pulls back. “This is - this is _not_ going to increase your chances of passing your exam,” he mutters.

Charles just grins. “You’ll just have to give me a lot of lessons, then.”

Sotherby thinks that is definitely the best course of action.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blenkinsop and Maltravers, fairy tale

There’s supposed to be a marriage to a princess, Blenkinsop is _fairly_ certain that’s how it goes.

He eyes Maltravers, the fellow knight sworn to get princess Elizabeth back from the evil wizard who had kidnapped her.

“So,” he says.

“Uhm,” Maltravers adds.

Elizabeth, a rather intimidating woman with firey red hair and a dirty dress, is smiling at them. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she says brightly.

There’s only ash where the evil wizard had stood before.

“You used us as _bait_ ,” Maltravers says indignantly.

“Well, yes,” Elizabeth replies, and shrugs. “Of course.”

“But we were supposed to save you,” Blenkinsop argues.

She shrugs again. “And you did. Well done!”

Blenkinsop still suspects this isn’t _quite_ how it’s supposed to go. Princesses aren’t supposed to be this involved in their own escape, and they certainly aren’t supposed to laugh as they throw the wizard’s own deathpotion at him while the two brave knights scramble to get out of the way. “You nearly covered us in that potion!”

She laughs again, this time a lot nicer. “Oh, come on, it doesn’t work on metal! You saw how he kept it in a cauldron.” She taps a finger on his armour. “So I knew you’d be fine.”

Maltravers blinks, and looks at the half-empty cauldron. She’s right. “So, er, what now?”

“I go back home, and daddy gives you both a huge reward.” She smiles brightly. “I think it’ll be land.”

“But, er, what about marriage?” Blenkinsop tentatively suggests.

She stares at them for some time. “I’m not getting _married_ on the basis of saving me from a wizard!” she exclaims. “That’s _stupid_.” She bites her lip. “I mean, not that you two are stupid. You did help me, after all.”

Blenkinsop breathes a sigh of relief. “We’re happy with land. Shall we go, then?”

Elizabeth nods, and they leave the tower together, Elizabeth stealing a horse from the dead wizard.

And if they take the long way round to get back to her kingdom, just so they can save a few other captured princes and princesses, well, that’s their business.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dick Turpin and James Smith, penguins

George likes feeding the penguins. Well, he likes feeding most of the animals, because they all get enthusiastic when they see him coming, because they know it’ll involve food, and the penguins are no exception. He’s got a bucket of fish, which he keeps above their heads.

A few of them squawk at him and each other as he throws them their fish, and all of them descend on the fish hungrily, as if they hadn’t been fed for days.

All of them except one, which has sidled up to his side without George noticing, and when it squawks, George barely manages to keep hold of the bucket.

“Hello, Dick,” he says, once his heartbeat has gone down again. They tend not to give the penguins names, but this penguin is such a… well. It was a no-brainer, really.

The penguin just looks at him.

George smiles, and tosses a fish in front of Dick, which he immediately gobbles up before waddling off.

George shakes his head. Dick hasn’t been the same since three other penguins were shipped away to different zoos. Together, Dick and the other three were too aggressive, both at the zookeepers and other penguins. It was like dealing with a little gang, and eventually the zoo decided to split them up.

It’s for the best, really, even if George feels slightly sorry for Dick as he stands alone, his beady eyes watching the group of penguins looking on the ground for more fish.

But wait, one of the penguins breaks away from the group to waddle over to Dick, and George smiles. Seems like Dick is making friends now that he hasn’t got his gang anymore. He watches, just to be sure Dick doesn’t get aggressive, but there’s no need to worry. The other penguin is James, after all, one of the older, bigger penguins who mostly got a name because he’s been in the zoo since forever, and is everyone’s favourite for being so quiet and friendly. If anyone can be a good friend to Dick, it’s James.

Dick and James nudge at each other, though, and George worries for a moment as he watches Dick squawk indignantly while James stares at him. Something drops from underneath one of Dick’s wings after another nudge from James, and James picks it up.

As James waddles back to the group, and drops the object in front of George, George is surprised to find it was his _wallet_. “What?” He bends down to pick it up. It was his wallet. He pats his trouserpockets, and they’re empty. He stares at James, who nods at him before joining the group. He stares at Dick, who has turned his back to them.

He’s gonna have to warn the other zookeepers about this.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Charles II/Sotherby, working in a laboratory

“Stuart.” Sotherby knocks on the doorway to the room shared by the PhD students. The other three are elsewhere, checking on their experiments, presumably. Fortunately, the student he needs is right here, sitting behind his desk with his headphones in. “Stuart!”

He’s showing no sign of having heard him, and his back is towards the door. Sotherby’s not surprised that Stuart is playing some online game while bopping along to the music from his iPod. He sighs to himself. Why had he decided that working in the administration department of the Behavioural Research department would be easy again?

“Stuart!” He taps the young man on the shoulder, and steps back as Stuart flails for a brief moment.

He takes off the headphones, and smiles in that charming way of his. The smile that has some of the lab technicians eating out of his hand; the smile that has the undergraduate students _more_ than happy to help him with his experiments, even without getting extra credit for it; The smile that, Sotherby has decided, will not work on him. “Sotherby! How lovely of you to visit!”

“I’m not _visiting,_ Stuart,” Sotherby informs him, and waves the papers he’s been holding in Stuart’s face. “You still haven’t sent back the revised application to do your animal experiments.”

Stuart rolls his eyes. “Oh, come _on_ , Sothers, we both know that’s just a formality.” He pouts a little. “Dr. Plantagenet already got approval for it, and I’m doing the research for him, so why do _I_ need to fill in the forms as well?”

“Consider it practice for when you will be doing your own research,” Sotherby tells him, throwing the form down on Stuart’s desk. He doubts Stuart will ever get his PhD, he’s been here since Sotherby started working for the department four years ago, and still shows no sign of finishing any time soon.

Stuart looks at the forms for a bit. “But _Sothers_ , I thought we had an understanding.” He winks, and Sotherby rolls his eyes. “I mean, you were very sympathetic towards my plight last week. Over drinks.”

Sotherby coughs, and flushes. He should never have agreed to go to the pub with the PhD students. Well, not all of them. Cromwell refused on the ground of alcohol and pubs being hellholes of debauchery. It’s no wonder Cromwell is studying the effects of alcohol on decision-making in rats. “Yes, well, that was outside of work…” And inside Charlie’s bed.

Charlie stands up, and pats Sotherby on his arm. “Now, _Michael_ , we both know that I’ve already started the first part of the experiment, and that this form is just fine the way it is. Just admit it’s an excuse to see me.” He smiles again.

Sotherby turns his automatic smile in a glare. “It’s not fine, you need to revise it or you’ll never get proper permission.”

Charlie just keeps smiling, and rubs Sotherby’s arm. “You know, the others are all helping Ollie with his rats, got the office to myself for the next thirty minutes at least. How about you show me what exactly I need to revise to get official permission?” He raises his eyebrows, a twinkle in his dark eyes.

“I - I think that’s, er, a reasonable request,” Sotherby manages.

“Marvellous,” Charlie declares, before leaning in to kiss him.


End file.
